


And We Go On

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Implied Jonathan Sims/Elias Bouchard, M/M, Minor Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Martin doesn't mean it when he says they should stop. Jon isn't telling the truth when he says they can. But the pretense makes it easier.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	And We Go On

"Maybe we should stop."

Jon looks at him, head tilted, eyes wide and confused, like he doesn’t know what Martin is talking about. But it's just an act, Martin is well aware, and he holds his ground, stands there with his arms folded and his lips pressed into a thin line until Jon finally drops the expression, sighing and looking unbearably weary as he drags a hand over his face.

"Martin -"

"No. No, Jon. It might be best if we stop. I might _need_ to. This isn't - it isn't good for me."

A muscle works in Jon's jaw and he looks away. "Better this than _him_,” he mutters, fists clenching and unclenching.

Martin rolls his eyes. "Oh yes, better than Peter," he snaps, irritated. "Because having you be the one to hollow me out makes all the difference."

Jon's eyes fly back to his; wide with real surprise. "I'm not - I wouldn't-"

“You might not mean to.”

“Are you saying I can’t control it?” Jaw clenched, not trying to force an answer out of him but he doesn’t have to; no one lies to Jon, not anymore. But there are ways to get around him, if you’re careful, and Martin has learned how to be so very, very careful.

"What happened to the others, Jon?"

His mouth snaps shut, and he shakes his head. "I told you, they-"

"No. No. No more lies. They didn’t just leave without a word. You never let them go. Where are they, Jon? Where did you put them?"

(“Come with us,” Melanie had said, voice shaking. “There’s a way - I know what he’s doing to you and it isn’t right.”

Martin had shaken his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”)

"No," Jon says now, voice soft and pained. "No, no, no. I didn't - I wouldn't - they _left_, I said. They-"

"I found Elias."

Jon stops. His eyes narrow and his expression grows calculating. "What are you going to do?" he asks, taking a step forward. "Are you going to go; is that to be my punishment?"

There's something stuck in his throat. Martin swallows, but it doesn’t do much to help. He forces himself to speak around it. "Why would I need to punish you?" he croaks. "I thought you said you hadn’t done anything."

"Yes, well.” Jon gives him a wry smile. “I was so tired, Martin," he says, stepping forward again. He's well into Martin's space now, although he doesn't touch him. Not yet. It’s not time for that yet. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I pro-I was going to let them go. It's just - the statements, they don't help the way they used to, and I can't – I was so tired and you weren’t - you weren’t _well_ and Melanie said- it wasn't on purpose."

"Where are they, Jon?"

Jon sighs, shoulders sagging. "In the tunnels."

"Are they - is it. Like Gertrude?"

"What? No. No. I didn’t _kill_ them, Martin. They just - they're -" Jon falters, stops, but Martin understands. Thinks of how he'd found Elias: vacant, eyes unfocused, smiling idiotically at nothing, mind completely gone. Alive and breathing but no longer present, Jon having taken too much for him be able to retain any sense of self. He supposes that the others are much the same. He imagines them wandering the tunnels with those awful, empty smiles, and shudders. He’ll have to remember to go down there; to find them and make sure that they are taken care of. He can give them that much. Elias, however, he thinks viciously, he’ll keep just as he is. 

"How-how long until I'm like them?" he asks, and Jon makes a low, pained sound, falling forward, head falling onto Martin’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, too tight. Martin doesn’t say anything; he’s holding Jon nearly as tightly.

"That won’t happen," Jon says. "They were accidents. It won’t happen with you. Not you."

“Accidents?” Martin asks, skeptical. Jon doesn’t answer; not that Martin expected him to. He can’t compel an answer out of him; if Jon doesn’t want to say why he’d really done it, then Martin won’t know. He doesn’t really care; knowing why won’t change anything. But there is one thing he does want to know, and he makes himself ask, despite the fear that the answer is one he won’t like. “Why Elias? I thought you-“ he stops himself there, knowing he doesn’t have to finish, that Jon knows very well what he’d thought. He knows Elias had grown…important to Jon. They’d seemed to become cozy, close, since Jon had stopped fighting what was happening to him. Elias had certainly believed they were. Two agents of the Beholding, working together for their common cause. His smug smiles had gown wider and far too frequent; he’d won, after all.

(“I’m sorry to say that we’re going to have to let you go,” Elias had said, smiling over the rim of his mug. “I thought that you might be able to find a place here again after that regrettable business with Peter, but it seems as though I was mistaken. Not our usual practice, letting our assistants go at this juncture, but I believe in your case an exception can be made.”

Martin’s hands had curled into fists. Jon wasn’t part of Elias’s _we_, no matter what he thought. “Jon-“

“Jon doesn’t always know what is best for him.” Elias had set his mug down with a muted click, smile gone. “I know he’s let you carry on with this belief that you’re helping him, but all you’re doing is holding him back. You aren’t what he needs, Martin. How could you be?”)

“Elias had it coming,” Jon says, voice dark and dangerous. His fingers dig into Martin’s back. It hurts, but Martin doesn’t let on. He likes the pain; likes that he’s the one that’s feeling it. Jon doesn’t do this with anyone else. He’s never let anyone else in like this, not Elias, not anyone, and he’ll never need to.

Still, he can’t quite help pushing. Just a little. "And if I say we should stop? If it’s too much?" _Will I have it coming, too? _

Jon turns his face into Martin's neck as one of his hands begins to stroke his back; long, heavy strokes, soothing him like he would a ruffled cat. Martin knows this, and yet he still shivers and arches into the touch, eyes falling closed. It's so good, to be held this way. To have the one holding him be Jon, Jon who he loves. Who he's loved for so long.

"Is that what you’re saying_?_" Jon asks, and Martin shivers again.

"No," he admits, the words pulled from him not quite against his will. "I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t, I want-"

"I know.” Jon's hand slips under Martin's shirt; fingers quickly finding the new mark on his back. The one Martin collected today, before he’d found Elias. He pushes down, and Martin gasps. "This is new." He presses himself even closer, practically molding their bodies together, and Martin leans into him gratefully, fingers curling into the back of Jon’s ratty jumper.

"Yes." Of course it is. He’d seen the way that Jon was growing listless, tired. The way that he’d begun to roam around the Archives, hands running over statements but not taking any, eyes focused on something only he could see. It’s been ages since any of the statements have done more than whet his insatiable appetite for knowledge, longer still since anyone save Martin has been fool enough to come within reach of his ever starving mind. The others must have been truly desperate to try.

_Maybe they didn’t,_ Martin thinks suddenly. _Maybe Jon sought _them _out. Maybe he never intended to let them go._ A cold tendril of fear tries to work its way down Martin’s spine, but he forces it – and the thoughts causing it – away. He can’t believe Jon’s that far gone.

There’s the click of a recorder turning on. It’s been months since Jon needed them, but old habits die hard. "_Tell me what happened_."

And Martin does. The lump in his throat forms into words that pour out of him with ease, more eloquently than he'll ever be capable of on his own, and Martin lets them go with relief; lets himself grow limp and heavy in Jon's embrace. Lets Jon empty his mind of the encounter, of the terror and pain he’d felt. It doesn’t feel good, exactly, this extraction, but it doesn't feel bad either, and even if it did, it would be worth it.

Worth it to have Jon’s attention focused solely on him. Worth it for the way that Jon’s arm curls around his waist as he leads him to bed; worth it for the fingers that smooth his hair back from his forehead and trail down his face and neck. Worth it for the way that Jon praises him as he sinks down next to him, fingers constantly stroking, stroking, as his voice soothes him down into sleep.

Jon cares for him, Martin knows, as much as he can. He has done for a while now; it’s why he saved him from Peter, why he’s still here, still the only one that Jon hasn’t emptied and left to wander the Archives without purpose or direction, mind vacant. And when he does take, it’s never really without permission.

(“Are you sure?” he’d asked, eyes wide and dark and fixed on Martin, making him feel lightheaded. “You have to be sure. If you’re not-“

“I am,” Martin had said. “It’s okay, Jon.” And Jon had shuddered and closed his eyes and that had been the last time – the only time - he’d asked)

There’s no harm in adding one more scar to his collection, he figures. No harm either in being hazy and disconnected for a few days while his mind repairs itself; he knows Jon tries to be gentle with him but it’s never been something he’s _good_ at, and some days are worse than others. Martin doesn’t mind. He’d let Jon open the top of his head and scoop the statements out like ice cream if that was what he needed. He’d do anything for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please let me know. :)


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